Chapter 4 - The Child Who DiedFor several seconds, no one spoke.
I stared at Samuel.
“You're lying.”
“I wish I were.”
“My baby died.”
“That is what Wayne told you.”
“And the hospital records?”
“Changed.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
Samuel opened another folder.
“I've spent eleven years trying to locate the original records.”
He pushed a copy toward me.
The top read:
LIVE FEMALE INFANT.
I could not breathe.
Below it was a timestamp.
3:14 a.m.
The date was the date of my accident.
The date my daughter was born.
I stared at the word LIVE until the letters blurred.
“Why did Wayne tell me she died?”
Samuel's voice softened.
“Because he didn't want you to know where she went.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
He reached into his briefcase and removed a photograph.
It showed the same young woman.
Emily.
On the back was a handwritten note.
Age 20. St. Louis.
I pushed the photo away.
“This is insane.”
“Your mother believed she was alive.”
“Did Mama see her?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“Four months before her death.”
My head snapped up.
“What?”
Samuel nodded.
“She paid someone to find her.”
“Who?”
“A private investigator.”
“Why didn't she tell me?”
“She was afraid.”
“Of what?”
Samuel looked at me.
“That Emily would come looking for the wrong person.”
A chill ran through me.
“Meaning?”
Samuel didn't answer.
Carolyn stepped forward.
“There is something else in the file.”
She handed me a bank receipt.
The date was six months ago.
A withdrawal had been made from the trust.
$2,000.
A note had been written beside it.
Emergency assistance for E.C.
My knees nearly gave out.
“E.C.”
“Emily Carter,” Samuel said.
“Where is she?”
“We don't know.”
“You said the investigator found her.”
“He did.”
“Then where is she?”
Samuel looked down.
“He died before he could tell your mother everything.”
I stared at him.
“Convenient.”
Samuel gave a humorless smile.
“That is what your mother thought.”
I looked at the photograph again.
Something about Emily's face haunted me.
Her left eyebrow had a tiny scar.
I had the same scar.
I touched my eyebrow.
Samuel noticed.
“So did your mother.”
I whispered, “What?”
“She told me Emily had your eyes.”
My heart was pounding.
“Where was the investigator headed when he died?”
Samuel hesitated.
“Memphis.”
I thought of Russell.
His complaints about driving back to Memphis.
His sudden refusal to discuss Wayne.
His strange reaction to the letter.
I stood.
“Russell knows.”
Samuel didn't stop me.
“Linda.”
I looked at him.
“Do not accuse your brother yet.”
“Why?”
“Because your mother believed Russell was protecting you.”
“From what?”
Samuel's expression changed.
Before he could answer, my phone rang.
It was Russell.
I answered.
“Where are you?”
Silence.
Then his voice.
“Linda.”
“What?”
“Go home.”
“Why?”
A breath.
Then:
“Because someone has been inside Mama's house.”
My skin prickled.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Russell.”
He whispered:
“They were looking for something.”
“What?”
Another silence.
Then:
“The rest of the letter.”
The call ended.
I looked at Samuel.
“The rest?”
He stood slowly.
“Yes.”
“What rest?”
May you like
He stared at the flour tin.
“The part your mother never mailed.”
